Where the Wind Stopped
by KitsPokePeople
Summary: You sit alone at your dinner table, lamenting over your two sons who deserved so much better. Calm is not a forgiving place – but those two boys made it feel as if a soft breeze (or a raging wind) swept through the city whenever you were with them. (Noah's mother's POV on her missing boys.)


AN: This is loosely based off of the scene where Noah tells Zed that his mom was asking when Zed would come by for dinner again.  
I'm a sucker for a good parental figure.

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Where the Wind Stopped

The last thing you had asked Noah, as he walked out of the door of your small apartment, was if Zed was going to be coming by for dinner for his birthday.

Though there was not much to get Zed in the way of material things (money often going to medical expenses for Noah), you always made the effort to make your second son a cake – or rather, Noah held an icing covered spoon in his right hand as he read the instructions off of the box of cake mix in his left. The ever impatient Zed would always manage to sneak in a finger or two into the bowl of icing when he believed his friend to be distracted – Noah busy trying to guide you, who was often too caught up in the moments joy to notice, from nearly adding an egg too many into the batter.

Noah had always been good with instructions – always wanting to gain the best outcome he could. The look of triumph Noah would get when something came out well was something you had treasured from the first instance you had seen it.

You miss seeing both of your sons' sheepish faces as they were praised on a job well done (even if Zed refused to admit to being proud of his participation).

You miss sitting with the both of them at your little round table in the living room – seeing the quiet awe that would take Zed's expression upon watching you light the candles, as if he could not believe the cake was indeed his own, and the sad but kind smile that would take Noah's features in reply.

You had hoped, one day, that Zed would trust you enough to tell you why. He never did, but you tried to never take it to heart and loved him all the same.

You hope that both of your sons knew how much you loved them.

Your heart seems to squeeze painfully.

You miss your sons – of course you miss them.

There you sit, at your little round dinner table, hands brushing gently over the faces of your two boys in a small, framed photo. It would have made you laugh under different circumstances – Zed's semi-permanent scowl and Noah's mouth half opened on one side (likely chiding the other for not at least attempting to smile) in the photo they would later give you for your birthday.

You remember, with enough clarity to make your hands tremble, how Noah had laughed at the pink hue Zed's face had become at your thanks - how flustered the rowdy boy had become at the feeling of your lips touching his forehead after they had touched Noah's and your arms pulling them in for a tight embrace. Though Zed claimed to be too old for things like hugs, - he would loudly complain and whine – he rarely pulled away as you held both of your sons as close as you could.

Calm is not a forgiving place – but those two boys made it feel as if a soft breeze (or a raging wind) swept through the city whenever you were with them… they made Calm your home.

You are not sure when it happened, but you slowly remove your glasses after seeing small, clear droplets appear on the framed picture you have held nearly every day since you were told Noah died in an accident involving an exploding ambulance car and Zed went missing after jumping from one of the highest places in the city. You did not need to be told of how little it mattered to the authorities on at least finding Zed's body – they had branded him a delinquent and criminal since he was twelve.

Noah had a strong heart, but a body that could never catch up. You had worried for him but had never told him he could not live like anyone else – the hospital staff already showered him with enough pity to drown him. You do not have the heart to touch his room – the idea of erasing even a fragment of him from your life… you wanted your sons to fly free – away from this prison called Calm – but not like this.

A sob finally escapes your throat and you find yourself hunched over that framed picture in your hands. With your husband having left you years ago for a more financially stable livelihood and your two sons assumed dead with no one else to lament over them – you have no one left to be strong for – no one left to keep up appearances for.

So now, you sit alone at your little, round dinner table - lamenting over your two sons who deserved so much better than a city that clipped their wings.


End file.
